The Ninth (6 page)

“Listen, Jack, I don’t want you to think badly of me for asking this, but I’ve got to ask,” Nathan said slowly.

“Go ahead, Nathan.  You know I won’t hold it against you,” Jack reassured his old friend.

“If Brent is such a threat, if our survival is truly on the line here, wouldn’t getting rid of him be an option to consider?”

“I thought of that too, Nathan.  I know what’s at stake, but I don’t think that’s an option.  The few cases where Brent’s failsafe kicked in were all accidents.  We don’t know what would happen if we
really
tried to kill him.  It might not even be possible.”

“I know you, Jack.  You’d think of a way.  In fact, I’m sure you already have.  What’s the real reason?”

“Nathan, how many times did Lazarus fail to establish a link?”

“Millions upon millions of times, perhaps billions.  Why?”

“Brent is seventeen years old, Nathan.  What happens in three years from now?”

“A lot of things, Jack. What are you getting at?”

“Nathan, I can’t honestly believe that on the very eve of the millennial anniversary of the end of the Great War, Lazarus just
happens
to establish a stable link that produces a child that is both the greatest threat
and
asset to the Commonwealth.  Maybe fate is tired of peace and Brent is the seed of chaos.  But what if that’s not why Brent is here?  What if he is our only weapon against something terrible?”

“Now who’s been watching too many plays?  But I get your point.  It’s a stretch for it to be pure coincidence.  If we kill him now, we might just be signing our death warrants.”

It had been one of the best days Cain could remember.  Placement exams were always exciting, particularly for a bookie of a division, but this one was down right exhilarating.  Not only had the Administer changed everything, but also, for the first time in Cain couldn’t remember how long, the academy was getting
quality
recruits from every edge of the Commonwealth.

“Change my bet from ten against to twelve for,” a trooper said, laying her pad before Cain.

Being so remote, this academy was lucky to get any recruits at all.  The main source of recruits had always been the overflow from the more prestigious academies near the core worlds – when they had all they wanted, the leftovers were sent here.  However, that had always suited Cain.  This academy had something none of the most prestigious academies in the Commonwealth had – freedom.

“Cancel my bets; I’m out,” another trooper griped as he thrust down his pad.

Administer Bloom didn’t have the eyes of the military watching his every movement, and it showed.  Not only was he able to make crazy announcements like he had done this morning, but he was able to make choices without some oversight committee second-guessing him every step of the way.  That suited Cain as well.  On any other academy Cain would have to be a master spy to keep his position as a bookie secret from the instructors or Administer.  If they got even the slightest hint of his
hobby,
Cain would be lucky to end up as a part time security guard for a civilian storage depot.  Not here though.  Administer Bloom not only turned a blind eye on their activities, he had the entire staff ignoring them.  Cain could run down every corridor of the station shouting, “I’m a bookie.  I manage illegal bets, and I’m proud!” and no one would even bat an eye.

“Twenty-five creds on Group D to fail infiltration,” a trooper said as he laid his pad before Cain.

For months, troopers had been placing bets on the placement exams, but with Bloom’s announcement it was all for nothing.  Cain was swamped with new bets, canceled bets, and arguments over current odds.  It was normal for a few last minute wagers as troopers and division leaders saw the recruits for the first time, but this was inhuman.  Cain’s hands were cramping from all the new information he’d had to submit to the other bookies.  Cain hadn’t even been able to look up since the announcement, hunched over his own pad, entering the necessary changes while updating the pads the troopers tossed his way.  Cain reached out his hand to grab the next pad and enter the next bet but found none.  Cain realized that the clamor of the last minute bettors had died down.

“What do you think, Jack, the usual?” a familiar voice asked.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Nathan,” a voice Cain didn’t know answered.  “Remember what happened last time.”

Looking up, Cain was face to face with Administer Bloom, talking to a tall man in a Weaver uniform.  Cain nearly collapsed in shock.  The troopers who had been placing bets a moment prior were staring wide eyed at Cain.

“That was a one time thing, I assure you.  Come on Jack, I’ve never known you to shy away from a bet before.  Plus, what is the harm?  Not like we can influence him with a wager,” the Administer nudged.

“All right, I give,” the Weaver said with a smile.  “Just don’t bet more than you can lose.”

“More than
we
can lose.  I lifted your pad on the way here.”

The Weaver burst out laughing.  The troopers nearby all took a step back.

“All right my boy, you are the bookie of your division I take it,” the Administer directed at Cain.  “The two of us would like to place a bet on a recruit named Brent in group C.  Two thousand credits.”

“I think you have to be more specific than that, Nathan.”  The Weaver folded his arms.  “This isn’t some kind of race,” the Weaver added.

“Oh right, let’s see.  Recruit Brent to pass all exams.  That sound all right to you, Jack?”  Administer Bloom asked.

The Weaver nodded.  Cain hesitantly took the two pads Administer Bloom handed to him, unable to do more than nod in the affirmative.  Cain started entering the wagers into his pad.

“No, no, my boy, two thousand
each
,” Administer Bloom corrected.

The troopers nearby exchanged glances.  Cain corrected the entry and returned the pads.  Administer Bloom had a wide grin on his face as he and the Weaver left Cain and headed toward the observation deck proper.

“What was that all about?” a muffled voice asked from behind Cain.

Turning, Cain found Cassandra in full armor.  She snatched his pad before he could answer.

“
Two thousand credits
?  Wish I had that many spare creds to toss around.  I’ll have to keep an eye on this Brent person,” Cassandra said to herself.

“I’d like to place a wager on that kid, too!” a trooper shouted, quickly approaching Cain.

About two dozen or so tried to do the same.  Only four of them made it before Cain got the notice the exams had started and all betting was locked in.  Thankfully, Cassandra kept the troopers from rioting as Cain explained the situation.  After the troopers dispersed, Cain gathered his things and left the lounge, heading to the observation room proper.

“Your grin is missing.  What’s bugging you?” Cassandra asked, walking alongside.

“Nothing really,” Cain said, reassuring Cassandra.  “It has just been a long morning.”

“Have it your way.  So what do you know about this Brent person?”

“Not much.  He was a last minute addition to the roster.  Never really made that big of an impact on the betting pools.”

“I don’t mean that.  You know I couldn’t care less about the pools.  I mean what is he
like
?”

“Why do you care?”

“Well, if the Administer is willing to place that kind of wager, the kid must be special.”

“Or maybe he is the Administer’s nephew or something.”

“What if he’s a Weaver?”  Cassandra’s voice became hushed.

Cain paused; he hadn’t thought of that.

“If that’s the case, Cassandra, it might be a good idea to scope him out during the lunch break,” Cain suggested.

As Cassandra nodded, Cain could feel dread build up in the pit of his stomach.  Well it
had
been a good day.

Leaving the main corridor, Brent and the rest of group C entered a large auditorium.  Erin was still blushing from her run in with Humphrey.  A tall skinny man was standing at the base of the stadium seating of the auditorium.  As they got closer, Brent could make out large, thick-framed glasses that clashed with the slender nature of the man.  The skinny man was staring at the timepiece on his right arm with impatience.  It was overly elaborate for the simple task of telling time and looked needlessly expensive.

“You all took your sweet time getting here.”  The skinny man’s voice was nasally and brisk.  “The other groups have already begun their first examinations.  Hurry up there; we don’t have all day.”

As the recruits quickly rushed down to the man, Brent noticed a large door behind him.  Unlike the sleek doorways of the station, this one was an imposing sight of gray metal, easily twice the height of the tall man.

“My name is Mister Zimmer, and I am one of the five instructors who will be determining your fates today,” the instructor said as he scanned the group before him.  “My area of expertise is infiltration, and after I’m done with all of you, we will know which of you will rise to glorious heights and which of you will sink to dismal lows.”

“What’s the difference between this and stealth?” Owen asked innocently.  “Aren’t they the same kind of thing?”

“I hate that question,” the Zimmer said with a sneer.  “I can’t tell you how many times I have to defend against that question.  Stealth is the field of avoiding detection.  Infiltration is the field of
embracing
detection,” the instructor said smugly.

The recruits looked at one another then Zimmer again.

“I can see by the blank expressions on your faces you don’t have a clue what I am talking about,” Zimmer said with a sigh.  “Very well.  Stealth is all about performing actions or moving around without the enemy knowing you are there.  Infiltration is the art of blending into the common.  A master of stealth can act deep in enemy territory causing all kinds of mischief.  However, if he is caught it is all over.  A captured spy’s only hope is for a swift and painless death.  Meanwhile, a master of infiltration can walk in through the front door, accomplish his mission, and walk out without anyone being the wiser.”  Instructor Zimmer’s response had the wear of being rehearsed.

The recruits exchanged glances, uncertain how to respond.

“Time is short, so let’s get you all on your way.  As the Administer requested, you will undergo a test of my
personal
design.  You will be given some information about the culture and left to fend for yourself.  After a period of time of
my
choosing, the examination will end, and I’ll judge your performance,” Zimmer said curtly.

As the skinny man finished, the doorway behind him started to hiss.  Brent guessed it was pressurizing.  As it opened, Brent could make out the interior of a small ship.  Impatiently, Zimmer gestured them to enter.  Cautiously, the recruits entered one by one.  It was a smaller room with bulkheads to Brent’s right and left, probably leading to the rest of the ship.  Lining the walls were twenty uncomfortable looking chairs of solid metal with numerous straps and harnesses.  In the center, bolted to the floor and ceiling, were twenty lockers.

“You are now in a drop ship,” Zimmer said from the doorway leading to the station.  “There is a chair and locker for each of you, so no fighting.  You’ll find a single piece suit and an ‘ident’ card in each locker.  The workings of the card and the suit have been uploaded into your pads along with a briefing of the city you’ll be infiltrating.  When you are all suited up the examination will begin.”

As Zimmer stepped back, the doorway sealed and started hissing again.  Brent opened his locker as he flipped through the information on his pad.  The ‘suit’ Zimmer had mentioned was an old dirty coverall covered in fluids Brent couldn’t and
didn’t
want to identify.  According to his pad, the entire group of recruits was landing in the city of Aoede under the guise of an orbital work crew.  Getting into the coverall was more complicated than Brent had first thought.  As Brent secured himself into his chair, he noticed several of the other recruits were still struggling with their coveralls.  The ident card was a small piece of plastic with an intricate color pattern covering it that shifted in the light.  According to the pad, they served as identification and currency, a primitive pad.

“If this exam is as difficult as these suits are to get into, we are in deep trouble,” Owen grumbled while fumbling with the last of the coverall’s rigging.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Erin said with an air of superiority.  “My brother went through his exams last year; told me all about it.  Right now we are in a simulation.  Technicians are watching our every move.  We are in no danger whatsoever.”

“Simulation?” the diminutive boy asked with awe in his voice.  “You mean this isn’t a real drop ship?”

Before Erin could form a response, the ship suddenly lurched from its docking clamps.  Everyone not secured in their chairs was thrown around.  Brent could feel the shift as the ship adjusted its pitch and yaw.

“That felt real to me,” Owen groaned, having been thrown against a bulkhead.

“Remind me not to listen to Erin anymore,” a female recruit said, sprawled on the floor.

“Well, the Administer did say things would be different,” the diminutive boy commented, clinging to a strap from his chair.

Brent noticed he was being pressed into the seat of the chair.  The ship must have already entered the atmosphere of the planet.  The recruits who hadn’t made it to their chairs struggled ineffectively against their increasing weight.  The drop ship would touch down before they managed to get to their chairs.  It was apparent the thought had dawned on them as the sprawled recruits’ faces twisted with a combination of anxiety and desperation.  At this rate they’d land with a third of the squad unprepared.

“Aoede is a rim world on the verge of joining the Commonwealth proper.”  Brent shouted the briefing loud enough for the recruits on the floor to hear.  “You are being inserted as an orbital work crew station on the nearly completed trade array in high orbit.  You have been on the trade array for nearly two months now and are being rotated for a fresh crew.  You will spend your leave in the capitol city of the world.  Once the manufacturing and administrative hub for the world, the capital city is slowly becoming a recreation center for orbital crews and visiting members of the Commonwealth.  There is strong local resistance to this change and tensions are high.  Caution is advised.”

“A walk in the park!  And here I thought it would be something hard,” Owen said jokingly

“Great, a Podunk rim world,” Erin hissed.  “You should feel right at home, Owen.”

“Aw, leave him alone.”  Hiroko’s voice was filled with pride.  “If Brent hadn’t spoke up you’d be clueless and get us all caught before ten minutes were up.”

For some reason, Brent had the feeling Hiroko saw him as a pet of sorts that had just done an impressive trick.

“Don’t let your temper get us all caught; you have to act the part,” Hiroko added.

“And what part is that?” Erin snapped angrily.  “Some ignorant rim worlder angry at the Commonwealth for making their world a part of something greater?”

“With that attitude you’ll be spotted as a core worlder in an instant,” Owen said calmly.

“What do you plan to do, sir?”  Dante whispered to Brent.

Dante’s voice surprised Brent.  In all the commotion of the launch, Brent hadn’t noticed Dante had taken the chair next to him.  Dante hadn’t said a single word since they met up with Zimmer back in the auditorium.  Brent became aware that the drop ship was now silent.  Erin and Hiroko had stopped bickering, and all idle chat had ceased.  Apparently, they all wanted to know what he planned to do.

“Well, I’ve been working for two months without break,” Brent said in character, mimicking Owens’ accent.  “I haven’t been on my native planet in a long while, and I have two months of pay burning a hole in my account.  I don’t know about the rest of you, but I plan to enjoy myself.  I’m going to hit an expensive hotel and get cleaned up.  After that I’ll reintroduce myself to the pleasures of my planet I’ve missed so badly.”

The entire group burst into laughter.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were neighbors, Brent,” Owen said with a grin.

“Well, that settles that.  I’ll race you to the nearest shower,” Hiroko added.

With a loud clang the ship came to an abrupt stop.  The recruits on the floor were once more tossed about.  The ship was still now.  Brent assumed they had landed.  The real test was about to start.  The bulkhead hissed.  Slowly it opened and a burst of fresh air wafted in.

“Welcome back to Aoede!” a strong sounding voice called from outside the ship.

One by one the recruits exited the drop ship.  They were on a platform several miles above the ground.  Skyscrapers dotted the landscape, giving the city the look of a giant mouth with teeth rising above the recruits and their ship.  The only way down to the city, besides a suicidal fall, was a single elevator guarded by a pair of muscular men holding imposing looking weapons.  Between them was a burly man with a look of disgust on his face holding a strange device.  Marveling at the height of the towers, Owen took a step near the edge of the platform.  Realizing the danger of the drop, he lurched back and nearly fell over.  Brent quickly rushed over and steadied him.

“What’s wrong with him?” the burly man asked.

“Not got his land legs yet,” Brent answered, getting Owen to his feet.  “Too much time on an orbital will do that to ya.”

“One of the reasons you won’t catch me up in those tin cans any time soon,” the burly man replied solemnly.

“Work’s work,” Brent said quickly with a causal shrug.  “I have this fondness for routine meals, and the pay’s not too bad.  Plus, if I don’t work too hard, maybe it will take
so
long they’ll give up on the whole thing,” Brent said with a wink.

The burly man laughed and visibly relaxed.

“I guess we all have to eat.”  The burly man even smiled.

With Owen firmly on his own two feet, Brent approached the burly man.  The device in his hands had a narrow slot running its length.  Removing his ident card from his pocket, Brent inserted it into the slot and the device sprang to life.  A crude monitor displayed advertisements for hotels and restaurants.

“Just between you and me, forget those ads,” the burly guard whispered to Brent.  “Overpriced and too many spacers.  Guys who actually
like
it up there.  You want to hit the Silver Dragon.  Great prices and plenty of normal people staying there, too.  After a while you may not even want to go back up.”

“Who said I wanted to go back
now
?”  Brent said as he removed his ident card.

Chuckling, the burly man waved off the two men guarding the elevator.  As it opened, Brent walked through, noticing one of the guards giving him a disapproving glace.  One by one, the rest of the recruits passed through, swiping their cards.  Suddenly, the device made a low tone.  Owen had just inserted his ident card.  The guard near the elevator that had given Brent the foul look clutched his weapon tightly.  Brent felt a sour spot growing in his stomach; this was going to get very bad, very quick.

“This ident card is a fraud!” the burly man shouted.

The armed guards took a step toward Owen.  Brent could hear some low whimpering from the other recruits.  The armed guards raised their weapons, pointing them at Owen’s chest.

“It’s my fault,” Brent called out while pushing through the other recruits.  “I knew not to trust them, but I did it anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” the burly man asked, placing his hand on a weapon at his hip.

The guard who had given Brent the evil eye turned his weapon, pointing it at Brent’s head.

“I’ve known his family forever,” Brent explained, not moving any closer.  “Recently they fell ill and needed medical help,
expensive
medical help.  He was too young to work at any position that would pay enough, so he came to me.”

“He doesn’t look that young.”  The burly man looked Owen over.

“He’s five years younger than I am.”

“Doesn’t look it.”

“Tell me about it, and he’s still growing.  Soon he’ll be taller than I am.”

“So what did you do?”

“I talked to a man from the Commonwealth.  He was in charge of the orbiter.  He was desperate for more workers.  When I explained my friend was too young, he said he’d take care of it
if
I signed on to work, too.”

“I should have known.”  The burly man spat on the ground.  “Leave it to those spacers to exploit our people for their goals.”

“But sir, you can’t just accept his word,” the guard with the weapon pointed at Brent’s head protested.  “There is no proof to support him.”

“Look for yourself.”  The burly man turned the device toward the armed guard.  “This counterfeit has all the earmarks of a spacer job – none of the expertise or flair of a local forger.”

The armed guard slowly lowered his weapon, nodding in agreement with the burly man.  The burly man pushed Owen on toward the open elevator and motioned for Brent to come closer.  As Brent got close, the burly man put a hand on his shoulder.